


Public Display

by Lady Mythos (Lady_Mythos)



Series: Incognito [4]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Gender/Sexuality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Gender Identity, Gender Issues, M/M, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28781058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Mythos/pseuds/Lady%20Mythos
Summary: The Autobots never knew what hit them.
Relationships: Jazz & Optimus Prime, future Jazz/Prowl
Series: Incognito [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1635262
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	Public Display

**Author's Note:**

> So this took a while to spit out. That's ok though. Jazz is in a pretty dark place during parts of this fic, so please be aware and stay safe. If you are uncomfortable, stop reading at the first line break where the narrative switches to Jazz's perspective and continue at the second line break where we turn to Prowl. I'll happily provide a synopsis at the end.
> 
> Anyways, hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> CW: self-hatred, a possible form of alien gender dysphoria?

August 3rd , 20XX. The day one Jazz of Polyhex, Third in Command of the Autobot Army completely broke his fellow soldiers.

Everything started off normal enough. The usual crowd milled around the Rec Room, drinking energon, playing a few games, slag-talking each other. A completely ordinary day.

And then, it all went fragging sideways.

In walked a vision in obsidian and moonstone and cinnabar and turquoise, the sort of beauty only remembered in vague reminiscing of Cybertron past. The luxury of aesthetic died out after the third bombed out city. Who amongst the Autobots present could claim indifference in the face of a lost normalcy? The lovely bot strode through the silent Rec Room with the optic of everyone present fixed upon them. Even followed by the Prime and his Second, how could anyone look away from such a presence?

Their folded arms only highlighted delightfully thick hips. The flash of vulnerable tungsten protoform at the tiny waist begged for large, battle scarred servos to explore. Each grumpy step moved with fluid grace, even amongst an army of well-coordinated warriors. Though the elegant sweep of audio horns looked incredibly familiar. As well as the uncharacteristically moody teal visor staring out into the crowd. Not to mention that iconic black and white paint....

Wait, _Jazz!?_

What, the actual frag, had happened to everyone's friendly neighborhood spy? He had certainly been pretty before in a rugged, war-torn sense. But somehow he'd transformed into this tiny stunner fit to draw the optics. Those who had once turned up their noses at his previous common looks couldn't tear their gaze away. Those who had once followed his frame with longing optics fought to restrain their heightened lust. Which among them would be the first to break the ice? Who would try to—

"Oi!" Jazz snarled, a charming flush curling his cheeks. "You fraggers wanna stare at something else?"

Every mech jack of them turned away. Pretty or not, Jazz remained the chief interrogator for a reason. Wasn't worth losing a digit for looking too close. Yet they could not deny the absolute magnetic energy crackling in the room. That, and a thousand comms firing off a barrage of fiery gossip. Such a dangerous beauty amongst their ranks could not be overlooked. The trick lay in the approach; Jazz would eviscerate the fool that would dare to try something idiotic. And, if the denizens of the Ark were completely honest, so would everyone else.

The sheer joy and light Jazz brought to the table, despite the continued quiet despair of being stranded upon a foreign planet, warmed the spark of all. The grimness of his position had yet to dampen his smile. Now, though, the loveliness of Jazz's new frame could not mask the fragile scowl upon his face. He looked delicate in a way his comforting bravado could not hide. It hid in every movement. Raising his cube higher to account for splashing. Bumping his hip against a table rather than the usual flashy spin. Bracing himself against the table in order to climb the high stool he would casually hop into. And all the while, his visor dimmed, settling upon a moody ocean blue as he sipped his energon.

Several sparks broke that day. Over a pastiche of comms., the secret pact was sworn.

Protect the Ark's beloved morale officer.

* * *

Jazz stared into the opalescent pink energon glimmering in his cube. It seems rations were hydropowered today. Usually, he loved the alien tang that water infused through the mix. He could not enjoy it today. Dozens of shocked stares still crawled across his plating despite the fact that no one dared to continue gazing. He shivered involuntarily. Was he really so different now?

He tapped his claws against the side of the cube, chewing on his lip. Jazz felt exposed. Naked. For the first time since he'd reached adulthood, Jazz was as he should have always been.

And all he wanted to do was hide.

Jazz hated how he looked now, so *pretty* and *delicate*. One wrong strike, one bad shot, and there went his life. He'd made his name amongst the Decepticons as being the invincible shade. The monster under their berths, slitting their throats and stealing their information. Now? He wouldn't even command the respect of a Casseticon, much less Soundwave or Starscream.

Jazz's horns sagged. But this decision was still for the best. Small and fragile would always be better than large and dead. And it wasn't like he despised his aesthetic. Jazz loved his hips, his thick thighs, how he no longer felt like he had to fight his own frame in order to look natural.

But prettiness didn't protect against violence. If Polyhex taught Jazz anything, prettiness invited violence. And Jazz had invited the violence of a nearly-extinct race at war upon his own helm. And all for the stupid want of feeling comfortable in his own frame. Even if he didn't manage to get blasted into pieces by a str Primus-damn himself, Jazz was such an idiot.

"So," Jazz flinched at the familiar dulcet voice at his back, "this is new."

Jazz turned (that'd never been so easy before) to see his worst nightmare staring back. His favorite four subordinates in various displays of shock. His shoulders hunched to his horns. Jazz tried a brittle smile.

"'Raj, 'Ound, Bee, Blue. 'Ow's mah favorite team?"

“Uh, a little confused, boss.” Jazz tried not to flinch, shrugging his shoulders at Hound.

“Ain’t nothin’ to it. ‘M still Jazz, just Jazz as Ah should be an’ not what Ah wuz.” Jazz returned to his cube. “Ya can still join meh fo’ a drink if that’s what ya want.”

Staring at the rainbow shimmer of his energon would be much easier than watching his mechs walk away. Who would blame them? Certainly not Jazz. He knew their very sparks at this point. Between fear-filled confessions in bombed out foxholes and delirious ravings during emergency surgeries, Jazz had heard the best and the worst of his mechs. He himself had revealed many things about himself. But not this. Not the fact that Jazz hid the truth of his very frame from his own subordinates. It was a betrayal of the highest order. Proof that Jazz did not trust the people who had put their utmost trust in him. Who would want to follow such a liar? A mech who proved willingness to abide by such a double standard? A mech who hated himself so much he risked guttering his own spark out to hide? A mech like Jazz?

A servo, uncomfortably bigger than Jazz remembered, rested on his back. He lifted his helm. All four mechs sat across and around him, Bluestreak being the touchy one.

“Have you decided to join the short club?"

Stuttered laughter, punctuated by the none-too-surreptitious wiping of tears, punched itself from Jazz. "Frag you, 'Raj. Jus' cuz you Tower freaks are tall don't mean ya get ta give meh slag over it!"

Mirage cocked his helm in that arrogant way that made Hound swoon and Jazz incandescently furious. "But you have always been taller than me, Commander. I believe this is called simple retribution?"

"I'll show you retribution," Jazz snarled, sipping at his suddenly appetizing cube.

"Aww, c'mon boss. Being short ain't so bad!" Bumblebee nudged Jazz's shoulder with a smile. "Besides, ol' Sounders won't be able to Jazz-proof the Nemesis as good."

Jazz could feel a sadistic smile spread over his face as a thousand opportunities flooded his processors. After all, Jazz was only vulnerable if he got hit. And Jazz didn't let himself get hit.

"Ya right, Bee. Ah wonder what he'd think of lil ol' meh waltzin' round cuz his traps don't work on meh?"

The others chuckled but their mirth died quickly. Jazz felt his mood sink. What could he say? What _should_ he say?

"I just have two questions. Jazz flinched at Bluestreak's solemn words. Here it came. The censure he knew lurked behind desperate appeals to their normal dynamic. "Was this necessary and are you okay?"

Was that it? Jazz stared into Bluestreak's optics but couldn't see anything but genuine worry. No bitterness or anger, just loving concern that made Jazz desperate to hold back tears. The others were the same. They didn't judge him, didn't throw him away for lying. Just looked at him as though he mattered more than just their commanding officer.

Jazz smiled, full and bright in a way he hadn't in a very long time. "Yes and I will be."

And that was the truth.

Bluestreak gently squeezed the back of Jazz's nape. Jazz felt his spark swell with affection. As his subordinates bickered amongst each other, Jazz drained his cube before crashing headlong into the squabble. He'd be fine.

* * *

Only a few tables away, Prowl stared at a laughing Jazz, cube congealing at his side. His claws dug deeper into his thighs. He'd have to stop by Ratchet to get the sharp dents punched out. But who could blame him with such a captivating display?

Jazz's intoxicating scent of fiery-sweet rose gold permeated the Rec Room, driving Prowl mad. Few things drew the attention of a generator than the smell of happy bearers. Contentedness increased fertility which meant everything to their kind.

Prowl groaned to himself. How was he supposed to survive the next however long with the scent of cheery, _available_ , bearer in close proximity? He couldn't stand it.

"Compatibility is a hell of a booster, ain't it?"

Prowl glared at Optimus who simply shrugged his shoulders.

"Look, Prowl. I can’t say I understand what you’re feeling because Jazz and I are not compatible. However, Jazz is still my sweet little amica but with the self-esteem of a beaten jethound. He's been skulking about, risking his life and health to protect us." Optimus nodded at the rest of his room with his helm. "Look at the others."

Prowl did. He watched as Hound quietly slipped some of his energon into Jazz's cube. As Ironhide patted Jazz's horns before leaving the Rec Room. As Sideswipe paused to flirt with Jazz outrageously with a strange, almost mature cant to his optics, Sunstreaker smiling without a trace of arrogance at his side. Clarity bit through Prowl's processors.

"You've given Jazz an Honor Guard."

"One that would fight to the death to protect him as he has done so for them." Optimus lay a look upon Prowl, filled with the strange and awesome powers of being a Matrix-led Prime. "I wonder what your place will be in it."

Prowl swallowed carefully and nodded. He wondered if Jazz would ever know just how much he was loved. And he wondered if these confusing feelings knotting up his spark would ever become love.

**Author's Note:**

> Summary: Jazz feels guilty for being his original gender in public and blames himself for being a coward. His subordinates come and Jazz feels like he betrayed them by not revealing his gender. However, his subordinates are just happy that Jazz isn't hurt or dying. Jazz feels a lot better.
> 
> Well, I hope you guys enjoyed! Feel free to kudos and comment at your will. I always love the feedback <3


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